


Retrouvailles

by cagedbirdsong, marlosbooknook, mibasiamille, minandmic



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Fanfic, Fanfiction, Outlander - Freeform, TSS, collab fic, jamie x claire, outlander fanfiction, retrouvailles, tss collab series, tss retrouvailles, turtlesoupstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagedbirdsong/pseuds/cagedbirdsong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlosbooknook/pseuds/marlosbooknook, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mibasiamille/pseuds/mibasiamille, https://archiveofourown.org/users/minandmic/pseuds/minandmic
Summary: Myself and three other lovely gals (@cagedbirdsong, @mibasiamille, and @marlosbooknook) have created a blog on tumblr called @turtlesoupstories. This fic is a collaborative fic where each of us writes a different part. This was sort of an homage for getting 500 followers!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first part is written by @cagedbirdsong.

“Yes, just the coffee please. Thank you, keep the change–yes, you too!” Claire offered a smile to the spritely young barista behind the counter, exchanged a handful of cash she still didn’t quite know how to count for the coffee, and turned only to crash directly into the stranger standing behind her.

She hadn’t realized how close he had been standing, and apparently he hadn’t been paying much attention either, his gaze fixated on a poster pinned to the glass display case of the quaint corner bakery; she watched the crease between his brows disappear as his eyes went wide and he jumped back, half of the scalding liquid soaking into the front of his shirt and the other half sloshing onto both of their feet. Claire jumped back a step as well, the offending cup held away from her body, and met his eyes with a face of horror.

“Ohmygod, I am sosorry, I didn’t seeyouthereand -  _ohmygod_!” The words came blundering out of her in a rush and she immediately lunged for the napkins on the counter, pressing a fistful to the stain on his shirt without a second thought.

It must have hurt - she could feel the heat of it on her own skin where it had spilled onto her hands - but despite it all, the bloody man  _smiled_ , a wide, bright kind of smile that should certainly be illegal. “Och, dinna fash yerself on my account,” he was saying, though she was barely paying attention, her cheeks flaming on several accounts as she rapidly took a step back, his hand coming up to grab the sodden heap of napkins she had assaulted him with. “It’s you that’s lost a perfectly good cup of coffee.”

“I–me!? You’ve just had boiling coffee poured down your shirt! Jesus H Christ, are you alright?” A few of the other patrons had turned to watch the commotion, and one of the employees had appeared out of nowhere with a mop and bucket, ushering the messy duo out of the way.

The Scot, for Scottish he was if she were to judge by the accent, just laughed a little, one hand peeling the sticky material of his shirt away from his skin. “Ah, it’s no’ the worst I’ve had. Second time it’s happened, actually.” His blue eyes flashed as he smirked up at her, dropping his attention back to dabbing at the stain. “Though, the first woman wasna quite as beautiful.”

If all of the blood hadn’t already rushed to Claire’s face, it certainly did now. “Oh, I- that’s very kind of you to- thank you.” She felt heat creep down her neck and dropped the now empty cup in the trash can, wringing her hands in front of her. “I’m really terribly sorry, are you sure you’re alright?”

He smiled again and shook his head, waving one hand in dismissal. “It’s really no’ an issue, lass.” Despite her embarrassment, Claire found herself relaxing at his reassurance, something about him oddly calming, familiar almost.

“Your shirt, though; I feel horrible, it’s ruined now.” She gestured lamely to his outfit with a grimace, and wiped her palms on her jeans.

“Ach, it looks better now, anyway,” the Scot chuckled, wiping his hands with the napkins before dropping them into the trash as well. “I wasna o’er fond of it much, but I think I’ll keep it now.” He blinked at her, slowly, like some sort of odd red owl, and Claire found herself laughing a little, skin prickling.

“Well I’m glad I just happened to dump my coffee on the nicest bloody sod in the whole of Paris,” she blew out, rocking on her heels.  _And the cutest_ , her brain chimed, which only made her blush more.

He grinned one of those maddening, dazzling smiles again, and bowed his head. “At your service…” he trailed off, arching one ruddy eyebrow.

“Claire,” she blurted, sticking her hand out awkwardly in front of her. “Claire Beauchamp.”  _Jesus, Beauchamp. What are you doing? Get it together._

He reached out, still half smiling at her, and took her hand in one of his. It was large and warm and calloused, and nearly swallowed Claire’s whole. Her legs momentarily quivered.

“James Fraser, but ye can call me Jamie.” He released her hand, and her skin immediately felt the absence of it. “A pleasure, Claire,” Jamie laughed, glanced down at his shirt, and shrugged. “Even if ye did ruin my new shirt.” There was laughter in his voice and she knew he was joking, but she groaned nonetheless, bringing her hands up to cover her face briefly.

“I am so sorry! Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? Anything at all?”

Jamie rocked forward on his feet, lip caught between his teeth. “Weeeeel, ye could let me buy ye another coffee, seeing as how I made ye lose yours.” His smile turned suddenly shy, his neck flushing ever so slightly, and Claire’s heart skittered in her chest.

She reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear and laughed a little, smiling coyly back at him. “I feel like I should say no, but I would love that.”

Jamie grinned again, found them a table on the sidewalk, and returned a few minutes later with a cup in each hand. “Vanilla soy latte for the bonnie lass.” He placed it in front of her as he sat, leaning his elbows on the table.

“Thank you again, Jamie, really. Most people don’t buy a girl coffee after she spills it all over their clean white shirt.” Her eyes smiled at him over the rim of her cup and he shrugged as if his clothes were too tight across his shoulders, playing with the stirring stick in his own drink.

“Like I said, Claire, it’s my pleasure.” He raised his cup, murmured something under his breath in what she assumed to be Gaelic, and took a drink.

“Your accent,” Claire broached the silence after a moment. “Scottish? Or Irish?”

Jamie set his drink down, ran his tongue over his lips (she shuddered), and leaned back in his chair. “A Scot, through and through, I’m afraid,” he purred, annunciating the r’s. “Were ye hopin’ for the luck o’ the Irish then?”

Claire laughed, raising one hand to push some hair out of her face as a stray breeze dashed by, and shook her head. “I wasn’t hoping for much of anything really… but I suppose a Scot will have to do.”

If it were possible, Jamie’s grin seemed to grow even wider, his eyebrows shooting up to nearly his hairline. “Claire Beauchamp, are ye  _flirting_ with me?”

Another sip of coffee, another smirk over the rim. “I might be, James Fraser.”

Something in his eyes shifted, darkening them for a fraction of a second, but he cleared his throat and crossed his legs, the fingers of his right hand tapping on his knee. “Ye’re no’ from France, I take it,” he chuckled, peering at her from the corner of his eye. “What brings ye to Paris then? Sightseeing?  _Meeting an estranged lover?_ ” She snorted and shook her head.

“No to the last bit. Just a vacation - sightseeing included.” She winked at him and he smirked back, reaching out to clink his cup with hers.

“Aye, I’ll drink to that.” A few moments of comfortable silence passed between them, both sitting and soaking in the cool morning sunlight and the hustle and bustle of downtown Paris.

Claire covertly watched him from the other side of the table, the way his lip twitched when he watched something, the way his eyes seemed to move fluidly, tracking one thing while most people’s just flitted around, their attention caught by whatever happened to enter their field of view. She noticed the shadow of stubble on the corner of his jaw where he must have missed a spot shaving, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he took a drink. She only jerked back to reality once she had begun to notice how his shoulders and chest looked beneath his shirt, and that his pants were just a hair too tight across his thighs, so she could see the ripple of his muscles when he moved. She coughed once, cheeks flaming. “And how come you’re in Paris, Jamie?”

He glanced at her, eyes cool and sparkling, but if he picked up on her train of thought he didn’t react to it. He merely shrugged again, ran a hand through his hair, and smiled. “Much the same as you, I’m afraid. Nothing special. I do a wee bit o’ photography in my free time, and what better place than Paris for it, hmm?” For the first time, Claire noticed the leather strap hanging on his chair: a camera. One of the small details she had failed to notice in the rush of their first encounter.

Interest piqued, she leaned forward a bit. “I’ve always loved photography. Have you been doing it very long?”

“Mm, about two years now, maybe three. It started wi’ a trip I took back home, in Scotland. More of a hobby then, but I’ve a wee studio here in the city. My cousin Jared lives no’ far from here, and gave me run o’ the place so I could try and maybe make a business of it. There’s no verra much exposure in Scotland, I’m afraid.” He paused, then grinned, shrugging. “Save the sheep.”

Claire giggled -  _Jesus, Beauchamp. Like a schoolgirl._  - and folded her arms, leaning on the table. “I’d love to see some of them, sometime. The photos. Not the sheep.” He laughed, eyes crinkling, and her chest swelled.

“I can show ye some, if ye like. There’s a wee…  _thing_ going on at a restaurant down the road from the studio, something to support local artists and whatnot. I’ve a few pieces up for display. If ye feel like going, that is. It’s nothing fancy, a cocktail party of sorts, verra casual…” He trailed off almost hopefully, and Claire blushed.

“I would love to. Thank you, Jamie.”

He dipped his head, blushing furiously, and grinned shyly up at her. “Oh, aye. I’d be glad ta have ye.” He glanced at his watch, sighed, and his smile turned apologetic. “Ye’ll hate me, but I should be going. I’ve a few things left ta finalize for tonight.”

Claire nodded, sparing a glance at her own watch, and smiled. “Of course,” she said, though she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a touch disappointed. He stood to leave, picking up his camera bag, but then paused.

“Claire?”

She looked up at him, eyebrows arched.

“I’ve thought of one more wee favor I might ask of ye, if ye dinna mind.” His voice was shy, odd in comparison to the natural ease that seemed to go with everything he did.

“Money for a new shirt?” She teased, smiling.

It got the desired reaction: he laughed, but then shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Would ye mind if I took a picture of you? It’s just, the sun’s just right, and the scenery’s perfect. Not to mention ye look right bonnie as of now.”

Claire flushed again, heat pooling in her stomach, and shook her head, curls bouncing. “No, I wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Jamie grinned, his face momentarily childlike, beaming and bright, and pulled his chair back, opening up his camera and quickly attaching a lens. He nodded at her, and Claire raised her cup and took a drink, her eyes smiling over the rim, hair caught in a small breeze and the busy streets of Paris behind her.

The camera flashed with a click.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 is written by @marlosbooknook!

Jamie nervously paced the crowded restaurant. He was surrounded by a sea of strange faces, a cacophony of French, English, and God knows what other foreign languages. But the one person he so desperately wanted to see remained absent. Checking his watch and suppressing a groan,  he made his way over to the bar. **  
**

_She’s not coming, you daft fool._

Still, some part of him hoped that she would make her way through the door, emerging from the fog of cigarette smoke, the flickering candlelight glinting off the streaks of auburn in her riotous curls.  Jamie sat at the bar, nursing a glass of whisky, dreamily reminiscing over the stranger who had (rather ungracefully) intruded his life with a scalding cup of coffee.

He checked his phone. Nothing.

_I should send her a message, make sure nothing has gone amiss. What if she’s hurt? Or there’s been an accident? Lord, let her be safe…_

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Jamie looked up with a start, nearly pouring his whisky on the beautiful creature perched beside him at the bar.  

_How ironic._

“Jesus, Sassenach, ye nearly scared the life out o’ me!” He exclaimed. She had made it, and she looked just as elegant and picturesque as he had imagined; like a Greek statue in her black dress and strappy red heels–that just so happened to complement the crimson tie he had selected for the occasion. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, but a few curls hung loose around her face, gently caressing her ivory skin. Jamie could imagine gently tucking the strand behind her ear, and how soft the flesh at the nape of her neck would be to the touch as he so gently skimmed his hand over it.

_That’s enough, Fraser._

“ _Sassenach_? Gaelic, I assume? I sincerely hope you weren’t insulting me for my lateness. Navigating the metro is nearly impossible; I nearly ended up on the other side of Paris!”

“Och. I could never insult you, late as ye may be. Sassenach means outlander ye ken… I’d wager to say that we both fit that description right about now. Now, how about I buy you a wee dram to thank ye for allowing a mere stranger to admire your beauty.”

He could see a blush paint it’s way up Claire’s neck and across her skin.  _The lass has a glass face, to be sure. And a bonnie one at that._

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” She waited until the bartender returned with her drink in hand. “And I wouldn’t call us strangers anymore, Jamie; I’d say that we’ve become rather acquainted  ever since I drenched your crisp white shirt with my americano. Glad to see you were able to find a replacement, by the way.”

She reached over and gave a quick tug on Jamie’s collar. He swallowed hard. Never in his life had he felt such an inexplicable, divine connection. Not with any of the girls his sister had tried so desperately to set him up with, nor with Annalise, his first and only comfort in Paris. Claire was nothing like them; a different creature entirely. He wished he had his camera on hand so he’d be able to capture every movement she made, every little sparkle in her amber eyes. Whether it be through fate, luck, or even pure chance, James Fraser had found his muse.

“Come, Claire, I’ve a surprise for you.”

A bemused look crossed her face, as Jamie took her hand (how perfectly it fit in his own), and helped her dismount from the barstool. As she stood,  Jamie was able to admire her once more. The dress was simple, yet it clung to her every curve, and every move she made sent a shiver down Jamie’s spine and a stirring in the pit of his stomach. She turned to retrieve her clutch from the counter and Jamie couldn’t help but stare at the slinky black fabric showcasing her glorious round arse. What he would give to feel it under his hands…

Claire turned suddenly, and Jamie quickly averted his eyes. A knowing smirk crossed her lips.

_Cunning wee temptress._

“Lead the way, soldier.” Claire said, a mock salute causing Jamie to break out into a grin. She linked her arm through his, and together the pair made their way through the crowd. Muffled conversations came to an abrupt halt as they made their way past.

Claire leaned in. “Is it just me,” she whispered, “Or are they staring at us?”

“They’re staring at you, Claire. Wait just a moment and you’ll ken why…”

As they drew closer to the back of the room, the crowd dispersed, allowing the artist and his subject prime access to the display. From floor to ceiling, prints of various sizes stretched along the wall. Blurs of motion and vibrant colors greeted Jamie as he stared at the compilation of two years of dedication.  There were scenes of Parisians strolling along the Seine, freshly baked macaroons sitting in a bakery display, a couple clutched candidly in a passionate embrace. And right in the center, the star piece among the endless sea of photos, was a girl clutching a cup of coffee, eyes gazing playfully over the rim, with streams of curls flaring out from either side. Jamie watched as Claire’s eyes darted over the photos, gasping when she spotted her own.

“Is- is that from today?” She asked.

“Aye. I hope you dinna mind me using it without yer permission. The lighting was just so perfect and weel… There was something missing from the collection until that photo. Until you, Claire.”

There was no response, and Jamie felt his heart drop.

“But if ye dinna approve, I can take it down this instant. I would never wish to offend you–”

“No,” she said quietly. “Please, don’t take it down. It’s lovely. It’s just…”

“It’s just… what?”

“It’s just… that girl in the photograph; that’s not me. She’s so beautiful and full of light… I could never look like that.”

Jamie stared at her in disbelief. How could she not see the radiance exuding from within her? He grabbed her face, forced her to look him in the eyes as he used his thumb to wipe away the single tear trailing down her cheek.

“But that  _is_  you, Claire. You are that woman. D’ye ken what I named that photo?” She shook her head meekly. “It’s called  _Sorcha_ –your name, in Gaelic. It means light… and ye’ve so much light inside of ye. More light and radiance than I could ever capture on film, no matter how hard I tried. You are the most beautiful thing I ‘ave ever beheld; the very thing missing from all of these photographs. I will’na rest until ye see yourself as the rest of these people see you. As I see you.”

He stopped as Claire’s lips crashed onto his, the sweet taste of her muddled with the whisky on her tongue and the salt of her tears. He leaned in, soaking in the feel and taste of her, praying that he would drown in her embrace. She pulled away first, begrudgingly, but self-conscious of the eyes trained on her back, watching the spectacle.

Jamie whispered into her hair, “Come to my studio tomorrow. Let me prove to you how magnificent you are.”

* * *

Jamie sat in his overcrowded loft, eyes trained to the pattering rain rolling lazily down the window pane. The smell of developer filled his nostrils, a new batch of photos waiting to be brought to life sitting haphazardly on a crowded table. But they would have to wait. The ticking of the clock was a metronome, slowly driving Jamie mad.  Would Claire do what he had asked of her? He remembered the fear in the pit of his stomach as he asked her the previous night; absolutely dumbfounded when she agreed. Now, all he had to do was wait.

There was a knock at the door: a series of sharp, quick raps that sent Jamie scrambling out of his folding chair and racing toward the door. Claire stood on the other side, rain dripping off of her yellow jacket, the hood pulled unceremoniously over her head.

“It’s raining.” She said stupidly, unable to conjure up anything else as Jamie ushered her inside, hanging her coat up on the dusty rack near the door.

“Aye. I can see that.” He stifled a grin and felt Claire giggle. There was a tension in the air, the unaddressed question of whether or not they would follow through with their original plan looming over their heads. Claire looked frightened, her eyes flitting about the room, absorbing the array of equipment and antique furniture strewn about the flat.

“Lovely little space you have.” She said, walking around the room and running her fingers over the carved wood of a Victorian chair.

“‘Tis a wee bit cramped for my liking, but it serves its purpose. Should I gain a bit of notoriety, perhaps I’ll be able to afford something a bit larger.”

“Perhaps…”

Jamie could see that he needed to take charge; she needed him to guide her. He cautiously made his way to her side, gently laying a hand on her shoulder.

“We dinna have to do this, Claire.”

“No.” She turned around, finally meeting his eyes. “I want to do this. I want to know what it is you see in me.”

Jamie breathed a sigh of relief, but the flutter of nerves failed to leave his stomach.

“Then let’s begin.”

Jamie busied himself setting up his camera, choosing the perfect spot between the window and the wall. He imagined what Claire was doing just a room away, slowly shedding off her cocoon of clothing. It had taken a lot of convincing to get Claire’s acquiescence to his plan, but he had never been more sure of anything in his life.

* * *

They strolled out of the restaurant the night before, Jamie gently trying to coax Claire into his plan.

“I want to take your photograph, capture your likeness for all eternity.”

“You’ve already taken my picture. What would be so different this time around?”

“I want it to be staged. To capture you in all of your glory. You look like a goddess Claire, a grecian statue, and I want to create that illusion in print. With you.”

Claire looked at him in confusion.

“A Grecian statue? Somehow I find it incredibly difficult to picture myself looking like one of them. Besides, weren’t those all…nude?”

Jamie stopped cold. He had hoped that he would be the one to mention the caveat of his endeavor.

“Aye. They are. And, weel, I was hoping…” He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, unsure of how Claire would respond to his…  _forward_  request.

“You want to photograph  _me_? Naked? Jamie… I… don’t know if I can do that. I barely know you.”

“But you trust me?” He asked, hopeful. She looked at him, unsure, then bit her lip in thought. He desperately wanted her to say yes, for his own selfish pleasure of seeing her naked in the flesh, but more importantly to allow her a glimpse of the radiance from within her. All he wanted was for Claire to see herself in the same way that he did.

The pair paused, standing shoulder to shoulder along the Seine. A boat drifted lazily past, the echoes of music and lively conversation momentarily filling the silence between them. In the distance, the lights of the Eiffel tower twinkled like lights on a Christmas tree. What Jamie would give to have had his camera to capture the magic of the moment.  

Claire gazed wistfully over the water, lost in thought. All Jamie wanted to do was reach out and touch her, lay a hand reassuringly on her shoulder and confirm that she had nothing to fear from him. That he would be there for her always.  _That he loved her._  But he couldn’t say that. Not yet, anyways. Claire needed to come to this decision on her own. He couldn’t be responsible for forcing her into a situation where she felt uncomfortable or scared. So he waited.

After what felt like an eternity, Claire at last turned to face him. The light danced in her eyes, and Jamie could feel himself going weak at the knees. He grabbed the railing for support.

“Jamie,” she began, hesitantly. “I do trust you.”

He felt himself exhale.

“I’ll do it.” She said, slowly growing more confident in her words. “But you have to promise me, that this will stay between the two of us.”

“Aye. I would’na have it any other way. Thank ye, Claire. You will not regret this. I can promise ye that.”

She linked her fingers through his own as they they continued their walk.

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep…”

* * *

Jamie was so lost in his memories of the night before, he hadn’t noticed Claire until she strolled up behind him.

“I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.” She whispered in his ear, a small laugh escaping her as she spoke.

Jamie whipped around. There she stood, completely nude; her hands gracefully placed over her chest and abdomen. He felt his eyes tracing and lingering over every inch of her, wishing to remain in that moment for eternity. Every single curve and line and ridge on her perfect flesh. His trousers suddenly seemed to be a bit tighter. He said a Hail Mary.

“Jesus Claire…” He murmured, half to himself. What did he do to deserve this nymph, this human Aphrodite before him?

“Is this ok? Will it look alright?”

“Better than alright, but I canna promise to fulfill your Jack Dawson fantasies.” She smiled. “Come. Stand in front of the camera.”

She moved slowly, unsure of her steps. If Eve had existed, unsure and soft footed in the garden of Eden, Jamie swore she would have looked just like Claire in that moment. She positioned herself, her hands still covering the most private and intimate parts of her, directly in front of Jamie.  _God, what he would give to touch her…_  Her eyes were wide and innocent, her curls splayed haphazardly around her face, a stray lock clinging to her skin, still damp from the rain.

“Don’t move, just like that.” The camera clicked.

“Was that good?” Claire inquired, frozen where she stood.

“Perfect.” Jamie responded earnestly. “Now, turn and look out the window. Yes, just like that, dinna change a thing.”

Her body turned at an angle, and he could see the elegant curve of her spine, leading down to the smooth expanse of her arse. A gray light passed through the rain on the window, sending translucent specks of light dancing across her hand. She moved her hand, ever so slightly, and Jamie could faintly see the pink of her nipple, peeking from in between her graceful fingers. Speckles of gooseflesh rippled up and down her arm, making the soft hairs stand at attention. She tilted her head to look at him, seeking reassurance in her actions, and her hair fell across her face like a waterfall of decadent chocolate.

Jamie could hardly concentrate, transfixed by the masterpiece before him. Never, in all his years, had he seen a woman so perfect in form, and never had he had the opportunity to capture the image of such a goddess. Until now. He stared through the viewfinder of his camera making sure everything was perfect, down to the last detail. The camera clicked once more. She turned again to face him, and he felt himself go weak in the knees. Yet, she still looked so unsure, so dissatisfied with herself. It needed it change.

“Move your hand. I want to see you.” She hesitated, taking a step backwards until she was flush against the peeling white plaster of the wall.

“Jamie,” She said, her voice hushed and somber. “I can’t. You don’t want to see me.”  
  


Jamie stepped out from behind the camera, crossing over to where Claire stood in just a few strides. He placed his hands on her hips, slowly running his fingers up until they met hers, draped across her breasts.

“Yes, I do. I want to see ye. To touch ye. More than anything I have ever wanted in my life. Will ye let me?”

Claire inhaled sharply, staring into his azure eyes before nodding almost imperceptibly.

Slowly, never once taking his eyes off of Claire’s, Jamie linked his fingers with hers, gently lowering her arms until they lay limp at her side. He could see her fighting the urge to raise them again, but it faded as he slowly put a hand to her breast, running his thumb over her nipple. He caressed the skin around it before delicately running his hand down her torso, stopping at her navel.

“May I?”

“Yes.” She breathed. If there was a line, they had crossed it a hundred times over.

His hand continued along its path, grazing the inside of her thighs before reaching their destination. Claire gasped, her arms snaking around Jamie’s neck and hands rooting into his hair.

“Jamie, ” she murmured longingly. She pressed against him as he went on, feeling him hard against her abdomen.

“Jesus…  _God_ , Claire. I want ye so badly.”

“Then have me. I’m yours.”

That was all he needed to hear. He ached for her, felt himself bursting at the seams to be one with her. He needed her like he needed air. Craved her like an addict awaiting his next fix. _Is this love?_  He wondered to himself. It had to be, for never had he felt an inexplicable pull like this before.

His lips met hers with an all consuming fire. He poured everything he had into that kiss, spilling his very soul into her. She reciprocated in kind, clutching him like a feral animal.  They held each other close and felt things that they had never felt before. The purest ecstasy of passion as they came together again and again.

 _Together_ , they were a  _masterpiece_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3 is written by @mibasiamille!

**“I have to leave soon.”**  The words cut through the silence in the air like a dull blade. The sting of them, despite the softness in tone, made Jamie swallow audibly, as if something was stuck in his throat. **  
**

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, the pads of his fingers tracing patterns on the gooseflesh at the base of her spine. “I know,” he murmured against the cloud of her hair.

Neither of them said anything, but she knew what he was thinking. The exact same thing had been on her mind for days–especially the past few–but she had immediately brushed them aside out of the fear that they’d take over the memory of the moment. Ever since she spilled the coffee on his white t-shirt, the time they spent together wandering the city streets or eating in small cafes were the most noteworthy parts of her trip. But every so often, the pang of guilt would settle in the bottom of her stomach; she had to leave and soon. Only until now had she realized that they hadn’t even talked about…  _it_ –it encompassing not only the present terms of their relationship, but also where they would take it. Would they stay together and do a long-distance relationship, or would they go their separate ways? Could either of them bear to be so far apart from each other, with over three thousand miles between them?

She moved her head from his shoulder, her eyes meeting his. He wouldn’t look at her. The corner of her mouth lifted up in sympathy as she moved her hand to cup his cheek. “Jamie, I–”

“I dinna want to talk about it yet,” he said softly, cutting her off with a long, sweet kiss.

She fell into a trance for a brief moment before she realized herself and pulled away, although reluctantly. “We need to talk about this  _now_.”

He suppressed a sigh of agitation when she pulled herself from his embrace, pulling the blankets over her chest as she sat upright against the headboard. She couldn’t make eye contact, either, so opted to pick at the stray thread on the duvet. “What are we?”

“What do ye mean?”

She sighed in frustration, dropping the thread. “You know what I mean, Jamie Fraser,” she said sternly, finding the brief courage to meet his eyes. “Whatever we’ve become… what is it, to you?”

She could see the cogs turning in his head. Nervously, she scooted closer to him and rested a hand on his shoulder; he didn’t turn to face her, as he normally did. Avoiding the question entirely, he asked instead, “When are you leaving?”

She let out the short, nervous breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “My flight is tomorrow night.”

He grimaced, as if she had just punched him in the stomach. “And ye waited until  _now_  to tell me this verra important information?” He muttered, each word laced with venom. Finally, he turned towards her and she stared, baffled by the anger in his tone.

She huffed, unsure of how to defend herself. “I–I didn’t… To be honest, I had  _completely_  forgotten!”

“What were ye planning to do, then? Just wake up tomorrow morning and walk out of here, pretending like nothing even happened?” He stood abruptly in his agitation, striding towards the window at the other side of the room.

She looked appalled at this notion. “Of  _course_  not!”

“What is this to  _you_ , then? Just a good fuck while you’re in town?”

“How  _dare_  you!” She was seething, throwing the covers off and jumping out of the bed. Pointing an accusing finger at him, she bellowed, “And I asked you first!”

He took a deep breath. “All I can tell you, Claire, is that you aren’t just a good fuck to me.”

“Are you implying that you mean nothing to me?” Her voice came out softer than she had wanted, so she paused and cleared her throat. Meeting his eyes from across the room, she willed herself not to cry as she asked, “And what, exactly, made you think that that’s all you are to  _me_?”

He jumped back slightly, as if he’d been stung. She knew that the words had hit him where it hurt; the defeat in her voice made sure that he knew her feelings ran deeper than surface-level biological need.

She wrapped her arms around herself, covering her bare chest from the chill. Her voice was smaller when she finally spoke again. “Do you truly think so low of me?”

His voice softened, too. “Of course not.” Shaking his head, he walked back towards her, hand outstretched. He looked nervous, but that all melted away when she took it in her own. Pulling her towards him, he sat down on the window’s ledge with her on his lap, arms wrapped tightly around her. Resting his head against her own, she could feel his breath through the thickness of her curls.  “I’m not sure what this is. But if there’s one thing that I  _do_  know, Claire, it’s that this…” He ran his hands up and down her arms soothingly, warming her chilled skin. “It isn’t usual.”

“No,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his own, their fingers entwined. “It isn’t usual. It’s…  _different_.”

“I’m sorry,” he said after a pause, leaning his head against the back of hers. “I didna mean–”

“Don’t.” She turned around to face him, legs straddling his hips and arms wrapped around his neck. Pulling herself in, she rested her head on his shoulder and murmured against his skin, “I’m sorry, too.”

Another moment passed before he said, shyly, “You could stay.”

Her head snapped up suddenly. “ _Stay_?”

“Aye. You could live here,” he paused, obviously nervous. “Wi’ me.”

She bit her lip, contemplating the thought. Could she stay here, in Paris? Make a life for herself with Jamie, eventually turning it into something more? Would she be able to…?

A tear formed in the corner of her eye at the thought, and Jamie reached forward to wipe it away. She met his eyes and saw the sadness hidden in his irises.

“I understand. Ye dinna want to leave yer life behind…” He didn’t say it, but it hung in the air between them:  _for me_.

“No, that’s not it,” she murmured, leaning forward so that her forehead rested on his own. Struggling with the words, she opted for kissing him instead. Hesitantly, he kissed her back.

When she pulled away, she cupped his cheek with her hand. “We don’t have to talk about this right now, Jamie. We can save it for tomorrow.”

“Aye.” He reached for her once more, cupping his hands over her arse before pulling her up and walking them over to the bed.  “Tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

The following morning, Jamie had woken up long before Claire. His dreams had betrayed him, telling stories of a love that would never exist: Claire in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle towards him; his first child, pink and writhing, being placed into his arms–she has her hair; sitting in the den of his family home, all twelve of his children surrounding him, his wife’s comforting hand on his shoulder. All the things that could have been, the sorrows of a life that could never be.

He watched her as she slept, took comfort in the slow rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. Reaching out, he placed a stray curl of hair behind her ear, and took solace in the small smile that stretched across her lips. Memorizing the way her eyelashes fluttered as she opened her eyes; the light in her irises as she met his own.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

“Morning,” he replied. There was nothing good about this morning.

Through lazy morning conversations, the pair got ready for the day. Claire busied herself packing her suitcase, making sure that she wasn’t leaving anything behind. Jamie kept his distance, trying to make the eventual absence of her less painful. He made a breakfast of eggs and toast, and handed her a mug of coffee with a smile.

After they’d finished eating, it was time for her to leave. As soon as she turned to face him, eyes filled with tears, he couldn’t help himself. He crossed the room in three strides and crushed her to him, his lips telling her everything that he couldn’t say out loud.

“Jamie,” she sighed, pulling away from him. “I want you to know–”

“I love you.”

 

* * *

 

_“Ye’re so beautiful.” He had told her their first night together, in the studio. They had been in and out of each other’s heated embrace for the majority of the night; eventually, she had to take a break. Never had she felt so enraptured in a man–as if she had been with many, anyways–but everything with Jamie was all-consuming, like a flame.  His arms were wrapped around her now, hugging her from behind. He brushed a few curls away from the stickiness of sweat on her neck. “What made ye think that ye weren’t? If you don’t mind me asking.”_

_“It wasn’t really a_ what _so much as a_ who _,” She murmured dryly._

_He waited patiently for her to continue._

_“I had a boyfriend a while ago, back home,” She began, licking her swollen lips nervously. “I suppose he had some sort of…_ expectations _when it came to what women should look like. He always told me that my ‘_ ass to boob ratio was a bit off _’, or that the stretch marks on my thighs were ‘_ disgusting _’.” She spat his words out with every bit of harshness she could muster. “I was with him for a while; about two years. I suppose I thought I had loved him, since he was an older man–a solid thirty to my twenty._

 _“But the longer I was in the relationship, and the more he chastised me for the way I looked, or the things I did I… I realized that I started to hate my own body,_ because _of him. So I broke it off, right after my twenty-second birthday. I’ve been struggling with my self-image ever since.”_

_“Bastard.” He pulled her closer to him. “He wasn’t worth yer time, Claire. Nobody should berate a woman for how she looks, especially someone with as much natural beauty as you.”_

_She turned to him and smiled. “You’re such a flatterer, Jamie Fraser.” Bringing her lips to his for a long, passionate kiss, she then giggled out. “And a_ bloody _good one, at that.”_

 

* * *

 

Her voice sounded shrill, even to her own ears. “ _What_?”

“I love you, Claire.” He repeated, the desperation in his voice almost palpable. “Please. Stay.”

She could feel her heart in her throat, choking her with emotion. “I–”

“I can take care of ye. I promise you that nothing will ever happen to ye, so long as ye’re with me.”

Tears started to form in her eyes. Her heart started beating faster in her chest, threatening to break from its confines and join with his. Was she in love with him, too? She inhaled deeply.

“Jamie, I–” She wanted to say it back, but hesitated. She swallowed, a tear falling from her cheek as she regained her composure.

“I’m sorry, I–I can’t.” She murmured, grabbing her suitcase and rushing out of the apartment.

The door closed with a click.

 

* * *

 

Tears were streaming down her face as she raised a shaking hand, flagging down an oncoming taxi. Upon climbing inside, it took her everything she had not to look back.

The short ride to the airport was a painful one. She kept thinking of all the  _what-ifs_ , and eventually making herself miserable in doing so. Instead, she opted to think of the brief memories of their time together. Their first meeting, how he had completely brushed aside the fact that she had burned him raw with her americano. The bright flash of the photo being taken, then seeing said photo hung in his gallery. Their first night together, when he made her feel legitimately beautiful for the first time in years. Walks on the Seine, complete with macaroons and bisque and red wine. The taste of chocolate on his lips. The feel of his hands on her, kneading and molding her into a piece of art. His face, stricken with love and desperation as he said his final words to her.

All of these memories, things she thought she’d be able to hold on to forever, were now locked away. She shoved them into a box and threw them into the darkest confines of her mind. She’d never open that box again.

She handed the driver his pay once they arrived at their destination. Suitcase in hand, she strode through the doors of the airport and headed towards her terminal. Every so often, she would see a flash of red or a camera bag and do a double-take, the hope in her chest rising steadily within her. No matter how hard she tried, he wouldn’t leave her mind; everywhere she looked, he was there, smiling widely at her from behind a camera’s lense. Her heart began to race so fast that she had to run to the restroom, splash a bit of water on her face and will herself to calm down. Should she go back? Should she return to him?  _Could_  she?

Upon instinct, she knew she had to go back to him. At least tell him how she truly felt: that she felt the same. Her feet acted before her mind did, and before she knew it, she was racing towards the exit, suitcase bumping against her calves as she ran.

But a thought suddenly struck her and she stopped dead in her tracks, breathing heavily.  _What if he hates me, now? What if he never wants to see me again?_  Her feelings overcame her and she ran her free hand through her hair; she wanted to cry, but couldn’t. A sob stopped short in her throat. Closing her eyes and squeezing them shut, she willed herself to calm down.

She took a deep breath before slowly opening her eyes. No longer could she see his face in the strangers around her. And no longer would she think of him, ever again. The box was closed, another skeleton to add to her closet.

**“Flight 491 to Boston, Massachusetts is now boarding.”**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and the fourth and final chapter is written by yours truly

_**Two Years Later…  
** _ _Boston, Massachusetts_

Claire stared into the deep amber liquid of the whiskey that swirled in her glass, half hoping that the tiny tornado she created would suck her up and spit her out somewhere else– _anywhere_  else.

“Are you even listening to me, L. J.?” Joe–her one true friend and confidant–nudged her with his elbow, pulling her from her reverie.

“Hm? Sorry, what were you saying?” Claire replied, her head jerking up to meet his eyes, cheeks flushed in humiliation.

Joe chuckled, “It’s fine, don’t sweat it.” He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling as he did so. “I asked if you were alright–something on your mind?” He took another swig of his drink, eyebrows raised over the rim of the cup in anticipation.

Her hands lay in her lap, grappling with each other as anxiety and guilt washed over her all at once.  

She stared at her hands, trying to focus on anything other than the emotions that plagued her. Tears welled up in her eyes as the memory of a young boy flitted across her consciousness.

Joe placed a large hand over both of hers comfortingly, assuring her that he was–and  _always_  would be–there for her.

“Claire, you know you can tell me.”

She laughed shortly. “You know, I can’t seem to remember you ever calling me that before.”

Looking up at him, she watched as he shook his head. “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he joked, but his face turned serious as he nodded, signalling her to continue.

Claire took in a long shaky breath, closing her eyes for a moment in an attempt to gain her composure.

“I can’t stop thinking about him… or his mother. Joe, I’ve never had a patient die on me. Ever. And with that, I feel like I could’ve— _should’ve_ —saved him…” She trailed off, her voice choked on the sobs that threatened to break through.

She finally looked up at him, her eyes glassy with tears. “It’s all my fault, Joe. A mother now has to live without her child  _because_  of me. _I_ killed him.” She finished, voice cracked with emotion, and she leaned onto Joe’s shoulder—thoroughly and completely falling to pieces.

Joe pulled her into his chest, silently shushing her and drawing soothing patterns on her back with his hand.

“Do you want to step outside for a minute?” He whispered, taking note of the scattered curious eyes lingering on them. She nodded, taking his hand as he lead them out of the comforting warmth of the bar and into the bitter cold of a December night.

She was still sobbing, her breath coming fast and short as she continued to lose control of her emotions. Joe turned towards her, forcing her to look up at him.

“Lady Jane, you can’t save everyone. It wouldn’t have made a difference if you’d gotten there an hour or, hell, even a minute sooner. Sometimes things happen that we can’t prepare for, and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.”

“I’ve been able to save people before,” she murmured shakily into his chest. “Even when all the odds were against me, I was able to turn it around somehow. But not with him.” Shaking her head slowly, she could hardly begin to think about anything else, besides that it was  _her fault_  he lay cold and lifeless in a morgue instead of outside and  _alive_ , living his life with his family. There were so many things that he could no longer do, and now these things plagued her, lingering close behind her like a ghost.

Joe placed his hands on each of her shoulders, squeezing her hard enough so that she’d look at him. “Listen to me. You’ve been lucky, luckier than anyone I’ve ever known—but there isn’t a surgeon on this planet, no matter how lucky, that can save every patient that walks through their door.” He exhaled and dropped his arms from her shoulders so that they lay limp at his sides. “There will  _always_ be losses that stick with you, especially your first.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall.

Claire noticed that Joe was no longer present, his mind taking him to another time and place. She whispered softly, “Yours?”

“I was in my third year of residency. A woman came in with flu-like symptoms: she’d been sick for months, and her condition remained the same. I knew that it could’ve been anything—but I was so sure it wasn’t anything serious.” He paused, looking off into the distance, remembering. “I examined her, took some tests. But I failed to see something that seems so obvious now. I had expected it to be so easy, but…” He trailed off, unable to say the words that remained trapped in his throat.

Instead, she finished for him. “It wasn’t.”

“No,” he murmured, still far away. “It wasn’t.”

“What happened?” Claire inquired after another long pause.

He looked up at her, his eyes soft in the dim light of the street lamp, illuminating the tears that threatened to fall.

“We had her stay a few hours longer,  just in case something unusual were to happen. But it wasn’t until I went over the tests and mentally ran through the list of symptoms again that I realized what I had missed: Leptospirosis—”

“Weil’s disease,” she’d said, mostly to herself.

He nodded. “By the time we figured out what it was, it was too late. I did everything I could to save her but… there was nothing I could do for her. By the time she came in, her liver was already failing. The damage had already been done, and no one could’ve saved her, L. J.  _No one._ ”

Tears silently streamed down his cheeks, the guilt weighed on him, even now, despite the fact that he knew there was nothing else he could’ve done. Wiping his face to clear the few fallen tears, he took a deep breath and turned his attention back to his friend.

“With every life saved, another is lost. It doesn’t matter what we do to try and change that. There will always be death and there will always be life, no matter how hard we try to avoid it.” He smiled, squeezing his friend’s hand, “But it’s easier on the mind to focus on those we  _have_  saved, while letting the memory of those lost live forever in our minds.”

Claire swallowed and nodded, beginning to understand. The message was simple: she’ll always blame herself, but that’s okay. Focusing on the positive is more important, in order to keep her sanity.

Joe let out a light chuckle, placing his left hand on her shoulder and leading them back into the bar. “I don’t know about you Lady Jane, but I need a drink.”

* * *

The farther and farther into the drink Claire got, the more prevalent the boy’s death became. She tried to listen to Joe’s words, to let him live on in her memory and focus on others, but she couldn’t. A lingering thought was ever-present in her mind, hovering over her like a bee to a flower: that boy reminded her of someone she had known, a long time ago.

She had tried so hard to leave everything behind, to shove all her memories in a box and leave them in the back of the closet. But he was all she ever thought about, ever since she returned to Boston. Despite finishing medical school, earning her degree and finally living her dream as a surgeon, he always lingered in the back of her mind.

Deep down, she understood why Geordie Campbell’s death had resonated so strongly with her—she had just refused to admit it. She’d thought that if she ignored it, it would eventually go away and she could move on. But she should’ve known better.

A few months after she graduated, she tried dating again. The men came and went, none of them coming close to the feeling she had felt with him, the truest love she had ever found in her life. After her fifth or sixth failed date, she began to think that she’d be alone for the rest of her days.

Eventually, she just threw everything she had into work, spending so much time in that damn hospital that she might as well have lived there. Yet no matter how much time and effort she focused on the other aspects of her life, Jamie was always there, like a chain you just can’t shake free.

That day when the boy died on the table—in  _her_  hands—she lost herself completely, having to leave the room and stay in the break room for the rest of the night, her heart finally giving into the harsh truth she’d ignored for two long years:

She _did_  want him, love him, miss him. And more than anything in her life, she  _wanted_  to be with him. Many a time she’d gone online, looking for flights to Paris; but as soon as she’d get to the _book flight_  button, the fears and doubts nagged at her.

_What if he hates me and never wants to see me again? Does he resent me, now, for leaving him after he spilled his entire heart out to me? What if he’s already moved on—with a girlfriend or, hell, married with a family? Could I live with myself if I broke apart a happy marriage? What if—_

“Can you shut up for  _one_  second?” She muttered to herself, downing the rest of her glass.

* * *

The hours passed as the pair drank and talked, reminiscing about their internships and the beginning of their friendship. Joe spoke about his family, some of the odd cases that came into the ER in the last couple of weeks, and generally just laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

“I’ll be right back, just need to use the restroom.” She smiled at her friend—who was on his fourth drink, limiting himself so that he could watch over Claire and make sure she got home safely.

She was halfway to the restroom when she heard her name.

“Claire!”

Her entire body went rigid as she slowly turned to face him. “Frank,” she said in a clipped tone.

Frank smiled, his face sweet and genuine. For a moment, she wasn’t even sure it was the same man she’d known almost four years ago. “I was sitting over there and I saw you pass by, thought I’d ask how you’re doing. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you.”

She narrowed her eyes, searching for the true colors of the man behind this mask of civility. “I’m fine, thank you. How are you and Sandy?”

He beamed at the name, eyes sparkling with something she’d never seen in him before. “We’re getting married, actually.”

“Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.”

He nodded humbly, “Thank you. What about you? Found anyone special?” He inquired as he looked over to where she’d just been sitting, arching one eyebrow as he spotted Joe.

“No,” she laughed, mostly at the notion of her and Joe as a couple. “That’s Joe. He’s my friend and coworker. But to answer your question: no, I’m focusing on my career for now.”

Frank smirked, a crack in the mask. “I see. I suppose some things don’t change.”

She gritted her teeth. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just funny to see how little people change in the span of three years,” he replied, looking her up and down with hawk-like eyes.

Unsure of his meaning, she instead turned her attention towards the bar and spotting a lone glass, half full with some foreign beverage. She stepped away for a moment before turning back to face him. “Funnily enough, Frank, neither have you.” With a flick of the wrist, she threw the drink at him, whatever alcoholic beverage it was splashing across his face and the top of his shirt.

She smirked triumphantly as she stalked away from him, not one tinge of regret present in her body. The look on his face was four years in the making.

* * *

“Shit!” Joe swore, checking the time on his wristwatch. “I’m sorry, L.J., but I’ve gotta get home.” He slipped into his jacket and geared up for the cold that awaited him outside the door. Once he zipped it up, he looked back to Claire, grimacing. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

She smiled, shaking her head in dismissal. “No need, I think I’ll walk. I could use the fresh air.”

His brows knitted together in concern. “Are you sure? If something happens, I-”

“Joe. Go home. I’ll be fine, I promise.” She gave him a reassuring smile and tilted her head towards the door, telling him that it was okay to leave. He hesitated, unsure of his decision, until Claire mouthed the word “go” and he finally left.

Claire turned her attention back to her drink: her second glass of water. She downed it before putting on her own jacket and gloves. Stepping outside into the dark, she noticed how the blanket of white over the ground sparkled when a headlight occasionally passed over it. Snow had begun to fall, microscopic crystals falling from the sky and decorating everything in a thick blanket of ice. She exhaled, watching the cloud of her breath dissipate into the air. The cold bit at her exposed skin, numbing the tip of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. She looked up at the sky before beginning the journey home—she couldn’t make out the difference between the stars and the snowflakes that floated towards her, thinking that perhaps they were one in the same.

The sidewalk was covered in a fresh sheet of snow, perfectly smooth and undisturbed. The streets were completely empty besides the occasional car going by or a light in a store window. Other than that, she was completely alone. In that moment, it was as if she were the only person in the world.

For the first time in a long time, she felt happy— _free._  Her heart and soul soothed by the smell of pine-trees and the memories of Christmases long past. But there was no feeling of grief or mourning as she thought of them, as there usually was. It was as though her parents were walking along side her, watching over her and keeping her safe. Only, it wasn’t their eyes that she felt on her back as she walked down the sidewalk, feet crunching in the snow underfoot. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end as the euphoria of the memory faded away into something else.

She shoved her hands inside her pockets and began to walk a little faster. _If I can just get to the cafe a few blocks away, I’ll be fine,_  she thought to herself, a plan forming in her slightly fogged mind.

Never once did she look back as she made her way into the cafe, eyes forward and her head down, her rational mind attempting to assure her that the threat wasn’t real. She headed straight for the counter, asking the half-asleep barista for a black iced coffee. After paying for the drink, she stood by the napkin dispenser, heart racing as she could still feel the eyes on her.

Upon calling her name and setting the drink at the end of the counter, Claire grasped it in one hand. Pulling off the lid and turning to the napkin station, as if she was about to pour sugar into the drink, she instead turned and thrust her hand forward, throwing the drink directly in the face of the stranger behind her.

The figure wiped his eyes cautiously, a familiar hand brushing his hair out of his face. Her heart seemed to be stuck in her throat.

_“Jamie…”_

* * *

As any artist would know, they are nothing without a muse. If it doesn’t exist, or it is lost, the purpose of art is lost. Jamie had learned this the hard way, having met and lost his muse within the span of two weeks. His interest in people declined greatly with the absence of her, and eventually found no enjoyment in photographing people at all. Ultimately, he steered away from people altogether, capturing the natural beauty of cities and countrysides instead.

Despite his change in subject, his work was still occasionally featured in galleries and magazines; remnants of the person he once was. Eventually, he decided to leave Paris behind, unable to live in a place where her ghost constantly haunted him with the memories of their time together. The places they were together were the hardest, but in the end, it didn’t matter where he was: his mind would always find a way to work Claire into it, whether they had spent time together there or not.

After leaving Paris about a month after her, he decided to go back to his ancestral home in the Scottish countryside, to spend some time with his family and, ultimately, to heal. He carried his camera everywhere he went, capturing the lush green of the hills and moors of the Scottish summer.

He found it nearly impossible to stay in one place for too long, however, so he took to life on the road: travelling to different cities, countries, and continents. Still, he would avoid photographing the people, and instead focused on the architecture, the landscapes, the skylines. In the end, he realized he was doing it for Claire–rather, for himself to impose Claire into each rolling landscape. Each time he went to a new city, he couldn’t help but picture her there amongst the crowds of people. All around the world he’d traveled, from Morocco to Tokyo to Las Vegas–and everywhere he turned, he’d see her creep around a corner or wave down a taxi. She was always with him, haunting him, never allowing him to forget.

Eventually, he had finally made his way to Boston. Upon arriving, he realized she had said something in the past about the city being her home, but he hadn’t thought anything of it. Now that he was here, however, the presence of her was almost overwhelming. Everywhere he turned, he’d see her face amongst those of strangers: lost in the crowded streets. Throughout the duration of his stay, he spent each day roaming throughout the city, walking through all the neighborhoods that laid within. He visited every place he could think of, hoping that today would be the day–the day that his life would begin again; to reshape the shell of it into the life he truly wanted.

He’d spent his day today wandering around hospital wards, hoping for just the tiniest glimpse of her. Wandering the halls almost like a ghost, he would pace the hallways until someone would kick him out. After the fifth time, the only thing he needed was something that would allow him to forget, at least for a little while.

And walking into the bar, all hopes dashed, he saw her–sitting at the bar across the room, talking and laughing with another man. Seeing the wide smile on her face made his heart sink low in his chest.  _Had she found someone else?_

His eyes were on her the entire night, falling in love with her all over again. The way she carried herself with more confidence than any woman he ever saw, how she threw the drink in a man’s face and still made it look beautiful. The carefree sound of her laugh, reverberating off the walls of the small bar. His stomach fluttered when he noticed her companion leave without her. She was finally alone.

When she left, he had begun to panic. He’d been so afraid that he had missed his chance, worrying about what to say to her instead of  _actually_  talking to her; that now, it was too late.

 _Go after her_ , the voice inside his head screamed.  _Go after her!_

Instead of calling for her, however, he opted to just follow her down the street. Still unable to say a word, he trailed behind, chastising himself for each minute that passed. Feeling more like a stray dog than a long-lost lover, he followed her into the coffeeshop, finally mustering up the courage to say something.

He opened his mouth to speak when he was met with iced coffee being thrown in his face. It wasn’t what he had planned or expected, but it couldn’t have been more perfect.

He couldn’t help but laugh, the memory of their first meeting replaying in his mind (though, thankfully, this coffee  _didn’t_  burn.  _Suppose she’s learned her lesson)_. He could hardly believe any of it was happening at all, the pure ecstasy that shot through every cell and fiber of his entire being as he looked at her.

_“Claire.”_

* * *

She’d completely forgotten about the plastic cup she’d been holding that now laid at her feet, rolling side to side and tapping against her foot. All she could do was stare at his face, pinching herself to make sure he was really here.

“What the  _bloody hell_  are you doing here?” She breathed, still not fully convinced that this wasn’t just another dream.

Jamie looked down at his feet, feeling as though he were fourteen again, afraid to speak to the girl he had a crush on. “That’s uh… a rather long story.”

“I suppose you could start with why you were following me?”

His eyes were wide, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water as words failed him. She couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on his face, her heart beginning to feel whole again.

“I uh, I ken it wasna right and I beg yer pardon for it but I was just so–” He shook his head and braved a glance at her.

Her eyebrows rose expectantly. “So…?”

“Afraid. I wanted to go over to ye more than anything, but I was afraid ye’d found someone else and moved on I–  _Christ_ , just to see ye again! It was as if I stepped outside on a cloudy day, and suddenly the sun came out.” He was beaming ear to ear, his blue eyes crinkling with the joy of it.

Claire could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. It was hard for her to even imagine it: the man she had longed for throughout the duration of their separation, the one she thought about constantly and had tried to forget, was standing there, right in front of her. The fact that he was just as excited and frightened as she was calmed her racing heart.

“I wasn’t sure you’d remember me…” She said absentmindedly, taking a step towards him.

His teeth flashed white as he smiled before digging into his pocket and pulling out a small square of paper– _a photo_. He took a step forward as well, handing it to her. A laugh escaped his lips when her hand came up to her mouth in shock, the tears that she’d kept at bay streaming down her cheeks. Her own eyes peered up at her from behind the rim of a coffee cup, hair wild around her face. Their very first meeting, the photograph (and the coffee) that had started it all.

“How could I ever forget about you?” He whispered, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek and leaning in to kiss her.

Their first step towards a new life,  _together._

**END.**


	5. ARTWORK!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not a chapter but some artwork that tumblr user @outlanderedandoverhere made for us!

[Retrouvailles](https://outlanderedandoverhere.tumblr.com/post/166408761463/retrouvailles-part-1-for-the-amazing) by [outlanderedandoverhere](https://outlanderedandoverhere.tumblr.com/)


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